


A Study in Mean Girls

by BurnBook



Category: Mean Girls (2004), Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurnBook/pseuds/BurnBook
Summary: John Watson works as a teacher at a high school, and he feels somewhat unfulfilled with his life. However, when a student is burned alive, he is directed by the principal to work on the case with a certain Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Finding out who the real murderer is turns out to be a real life version of the game Clue, and when everything feels hopeless, something happens that helps them come one step closer to solve the case.





	1. The Meeting of Sherlock Holmes

I soon realized I was either too old, or too old-fashioned, when I saw four girls from my class dancing in red latex Christmas uniforms that were not appropriate for girls at that age. For a slight moment I started to question what my life had become, at one point of my life I had a vision to make an impact on world, when I first received my PhD of Medicine from the University of London. After I traveled to America I found myself applying for a teacher job at a high school with all the good intentions, but ever since, my life had not felt as important as I had anticipated it to.

     My thoughts were however erupted when a shrieking sound from the speakers filled my ears, and for a few seconds I felt petrified. Smoke started to sip into the assembly hall, and bodies were fleeing the local while some of the teachers were shouting at the students to calm down. As I followed a stream of people into the corridor, I saw ‘FETCH’, a word that I did not recognize, that had been written with red paint on one of the brick walls.

     I soon found the school’s principal, Mr. Duvall, who had gathered all the teachers of the entire school. As he waved for me to join them, I saw him furrow his brows, and his forehead was covered by sweat and soot. A feeling of unease began to fill my stomach, and I wondered if something more than a fire had occurred. It did not take long for my thoughts to be just thoughts, and a mutual concern embodied the whole faculty.

“Listen carefully now everybody. What I will tell is something that will remain a secret from the students, at least for now.” Mr. Duvall said as he wiped his forehead with the end of his sleeve. “The school was not only set on fire tonight. Sadly enough, an even bigger tragedy has happened. A student was burned alive on the school premises, and right now it is important that the victim’s family is notified.”

     I heard some gasps, and someone even started to cry, but I did not feel anything. It felt like my mind was not attached to my emotions anymore, like my body was an empty shell. However, this did not surprise me. As someone who was well aware of the human body, given my Medicine degree, I knew that it was not strange when people reacted disoriented, or felt a sense of emptiness when exposed to trauma.

“Watson, I need you to follow me.” Mr. Duvall said sternly, yet with a plea in his voice.

“Of course, sir.” I answered.

     We walked briskly until we were outside the crowd. As I inhaled the air through my nose, a scent of smoke filled my nostrils. It really did feel eerie when I saw the dancing flames that hit the windows from this view. The people did not even look like people anymore, as we were standing so far away, instead they almost resembled ants.  

A man greeted us, a bit taller than me, and it looked like the sneer on his face was not temporary, but permanent.

“Watson, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He has been assigned to solve this case.” said Mr. Duvall.

“Case?” I wondered as I voiced my thoughts. “What do you mean by ‘case’, sir?”

“You did not think that the student who died, died of misfortune, Mr. Watson?” Sherlock Holmes asked with mockery. “Even someone remotely below my intelligence would be able to comprehend that.”

     I thought about responding to him, but then I remembered what had happened, and suddenly it did not feel as important as it had felt just seconds ago. Instead I turned my gaze towards Mr. Duvall as I pretended the other man was not even there.

“Do you know which student it was that was burned alive, sir?” I asked.

“I do not, Mr. Watson. However, Gretchen Wieners, a student from your own class if I am not mistaken, has been arrested as a suspect.”

Gretchen Wieners, could she really be a cold-blooded murderer and pyromaniac? I could not believe it, even though she did irritate me a lot, she did not seem to be the kind. Then again, sometimes it is those who seem most unlikely who are guilty of a black heart.

“I see that you do not seem to buy this.” Sherlock Holmes said. “Neither do I.”

“You don’t?” Mr. Duvall asked. “Why not?”

Sherlock Holmes straightened up and corrected the collar of this coat. I was not sure why, but somehow I felt thankful someone agreed to my uncertainty.  

“I got the chance to speak to miss Wieners before she was escorted away by the police, and I recognized the rash on her throat. It’s a rash that resembles no other, and it can only occur when someone has been poisoned by Imperium Fungus.” Sherlock Holmes said.

I remembered that name from when I studied Medicine, and before I could stop myself I let my lingering thoughts slip my lips.

“The control mushroom.” I whispered.

“Yes Mr. Watson, the control mushroom. A mushroom that makes your victim hallucinate whatever you tell them to. In other words, you can control them to do very bad things. A very clever little drug, however it is very hard to get your hands on, even for someone as important as me.”

I looked at Mr. Duvall again, and I started to wonder why exact I had been chosen to attend this meeting. I had not worked here for many years, and I was quite invisible at this place to be completely honest. So, why was I so important?

“I’m sorry, but I need to ask you something. Why am I here?”

The other two men turned towards each other as I asked the question. Eagerness filled Sherlock Holmes eyes, and his presence felt more intimidating than it had done before.

“Because, my dear Watson,” Sherlock Holmes began. “I chose you.”

He did not say anything more, and I was not sure if something more had to be said. It felt so simple and obvious when he said it; however, I did not understand it myself yet.


	2. An Unconventional Trace

It had been five days since the fire, and the whole school seemed to be under a trance. Students behaved a lot nicer, even Regina George, one of the most popular students at school, seemed to be changed. However, she was still Regina George, and she was still a very mean girl. It was only yesterday that I caught her taunting one of her supposed friends for wearing a ponytail two times this week. I had gotten to the terms a long time ago that I did not understand teenagers, and especially not superficial teenage girls.

     As the last person of the class left my classroom that day, a pink furry book fell out of a sequin satchel, but I never got the opportunity to return it as my body turned to ice when I saw the title of it, “BURNBOOK”. Was this just a coincidence, or could this very book be linked to the death of the student?

     That same afternoon I met Sherlock Holmes at a small café on a location that he had given me the coordinates to. As I entered it, my eyes traveled along the brown antique wallpapers and the worn wooden chairs. It felt like I had stepped into my beloved London once again, and I felt a sensation of ease. It almost smelled like it too.

I greeted Sherlock Holmes, and he gave me a short nod to acknowledge my existence. This man did not do much to make me like him, however I was not sure if he actually cared. In that way he was a bit peculiar, I must say. It was almost like the only man he needed to impress was himself, and that I knew for sure was already done years ago.

“Sherlock Holmes.” I said.

“Watson.”

For what felt like five intense minutes, we finally sat down at a table in an empty corner. We had not said much to each other, not anything when I thought about it, and I was not sure why this man behaved the way he did. Was it because of how he was raised, or did he have some form of mental illness that could explain his narcissistic trait? I was not certain, but I knew so much that I did not want to know him well enough to find out the answer.

     A young woman with a white apron gave us a small smile as she looked down at the floor, never meeting our eyes. She put two cups of coffee at our table, and there was something about her that caught my attention, but I did not know why. Her appearance was nothing spectacular, her hair was dyed blonde and wavy, her cheeks were red and puffy, and she had an aura that radiated from her chubby body that screamed uncertainty and embarrassment. Perhaps it was pity that I felt for her?

“Thank you.” I said as I smiled to her. “Is it hot?”

“Burning.” she stated with a weak voice, and she looked up and met my eyes before she hurried away.

     When we were completely alone, I suddenly remembered the pink fluffy book, and I quickly took it out of my briefcase. I could feel the fake fur underneath my fingers, and it was a pleasant feeling against my rough skin.

“I found something odd today.” I said as I handed him over it. “Here.”

Sherlock took it, and his eyes widened as he understood what it was. I could almost hear his thoughts that moved around like gears, and then a devious smirk began to form on his face.

“This is phenomenal, my dear Watson, phenomenal!” he exclaimed.

“There are pictures of more than half of the students from my class.” I said. “At the first page there is a red cross over the picture, and that is…” I said before Sherlock abruptly interrupted me.

“... Karen Smith, the girl who died.”

I shuddered as a response to his coldness when he brought up the memory of the girl, and I felt certain sorrow whelm over me because of that. The forensic team had determined her identity the day after the fire, and it really was an unfair way to leave this earth.

“I know my students well, Mr. Holmes, and I do not believe that anyone of them are capable of the horrible crime that happened.”

Sherlock Holmes took a sip from his steaming hot coffee, and I could once again see how hard he was thinking. He looked with unease at the second page, and I wondered if he had figured something out that I had not.

“I think so too, Watson. However, I am afraid that miss Cady Heron will be the next victim, if we do not find the murderer before he or she finds her.”

     He showed me the second page, and now I understood what it was. This book was not just a suspicious book with a suspicious name; it was also a list of the people who were planned to be burned alive, just as miss Smith. I gulped at the realization, and I did not understand what an evil creature could be doing this. Even though these girls were nowhere close to being angels, I still cared about them, and they did not deserve a destiny as awful as this.

Later that night I found myself sitting on my bed and staring into the wall for almost three hours, just thinking of who was and why they were doing this, and more importantly, how would Cady Heron be able to survive and flee from someone who was still an unknown face? As the pendulum clock ticked, I could not help myself from thinking that it counted down the seconds of her life.

 

 


	3. A Light in the Tunnel

Three weeks had passed, and whenever I met with Sherlock, we always met at the same café. He said that it was because he always thought better when he knew the location; however, I had a slight suspicion that it was not so much about him knowing the location, but that it gave him the opportunity to observe the girls from my class who always went there after class.

Recently, I had seen Regina George and her friends enter the café, a place I never would have guessed that they would go to. As she ordered, she mocked the blonde, chubby girl who had waited me the first time when Sherlock led me to this spot. A tear had slipped down her blushing cheek, but when I looked closer at her, she looked at Regina almost with awe. I had always found that strange, how Regina George, a girl who seemed to spend most of her time terrorizing others for her own entertainment, still made people look up to her. If it was not because of the fact that I knew she loved being mean to others, and preferred keeping them alive so that she could continue mocking them, she would be the only student of my class that I would suspect being the murderer.

     Four days ago Cady Heron had been found locked into a burning cupboard in the basement. Luckily, she had survived with only a burn mark covering half of her left arm, as the school janitor, luckily enough, had felt a scent of the smoke and quickly put out the fire with the fire extinguisher in the stairway.

     Because of these recent events, parents threatened Mr. Duvall to take their children away from school if he did not find the murderer. I had a suspicion that the school would soon have to be forced to close down if nothing happened. When Sherlock had asked Cady if she had seen or noticed anything before she got locked into the cupboard, she had just shaken her head and said that all she remembered was that the one who locked her in smelled strongly of coffee. Sadly, that was not much to go on.

“Have you found something new yet Sherlock?” I asked.

“Nothing new, no. You?”

“Me neither.”

     I sighed as I sipped from my espresso, and I could not help to feel that we had reached a dead end. After all this time, the only thing that we had discovered to help solve the case was the book, and that was by coincidence. And not only was it our only clue, it was a clue which lead us nowhere closer to the person guilty of these crimes, but only to who was next in order to get hurt. Maybe it was a mistake from Sherlock’s side when he chose me to assist him, I did not feel that I helped him very much except keeping him company.

“I was thinking, maybe you need someone more skilled than I am to continue this case.” I mumbled discouragingly.

“Of course not, Watson! I need your assistance in this case.” Sherlock said.

I felt my heart swell of proudness as I heard him praise me. I had never realized that he valued me. It made me think that I was perhaps a bit quick to judge him.

“Also, my dear Watson, I would prefer if you would not question my judgment again, thank you very much.”

After all, maybe I had not been quick enough. He was still Sherlock Holmes, the most self-absorbed person I had ever met.

     My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by an awful noise of coffee cups crashing on the floor, and as my eyes turned to see what had happened I saw Regina George, followed by two of her devotees, innocently fling her hair as she passed the waitress whose tray she had intentionally pushed over. The blonde, chubby waitress sighed and looked down at the mess that had become hers to clean up and wiped a single tear from her rosy cheek, but like the last time Regina made her life at work miserable, she looked at her with awe and still, this puzzled me quite a lot. As the waitress bent over to pick up the shattered pieces of cups from the floor, a folded piece of paper fell from the pocket of her apron. The whiff of wind coming through the open door made it sweep across the floor until it calmly landed under Sherlock’s chair. I got up from mine and picked it up with the intention to give it back to her as she had not noticed it escaping from its intended place to be, but something made me hesitate. The folded piece of paper in my hand felt unpleasantly familiar. I turned my back to the waitress and carefully opened the folds and then I realized why it had felt so familiar to my hands; it was the same kind of paper that was in the Burnbook!

     This piece of paper seemed to have been ripped out of it very hastily as it was torn in many places from its left hand side. Like on every other page in the pink book, there was a picture of a girl on it. I recognized her from somewhere, but I could not figure out from where. All the other girls in the book where girls at the school, and even though I did not teach all of them, I was positive that I would recognize every single one of them, but the girl on the folded piece of paper was not one of them. And why was the waitress carrying this in her pocket?

“Sherlock! We must leave.” I said as I put a twenty-dollar bill under the saucer of my espresso cup.

“You are absolutely right, Watson” said Sherlock and slammed the pink book together and put what looked like a piece of an encyclopedia into his briefcase. “We have important questioning to do!”

     He had no idea of what I had just found, because I had not told him, but somehow I got a strange feeling that our minds were at the same place. I slipped the folded paper into my inside pocket of my jacket and went for the door. I opened the door to the café, and as Sherlock passed me he smiled and made a gesture with his left hand.

“We must now go and speak to Gretchen Wieners!”

My assurance of thinking of the same thing as Sherlock was as gone as the leaves on a tree in a hurricane, but at this time I knew better than to question his ideas, so instead of sharing my thoughts with him, I followed Sherlock as he got into a yellow cab. It was very unusual for me to sit next to someone sharing my cab and by the look of Sherlock's face; it made him feel uncomfortable too.


	4. A Wiener in the Sun

The front door of the Wieners’ house was the biggest one to ever meet my eyes. It was not huge, it was massive, and judging by the amount of fancy cars in the driveway, the wallets of this family were too. Sherlock snapped me out of my amazed thoughts with his fingers and rugged his head towards the golden doorbell as if he was too important to ring it.

“Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, I presume?”

A man dressed in what looked like to be a very expensive suit opened the door, and the hand gesture he made invited us into his home.

“I am Mr. Wieners, and I assume you are here to talk to my daughter. I am a lawyer and will be present during all conversations you have with her, even though you are not, as I have been told, law enforcement.” Mr. Wieners scanned both Sherlock and me from top to toe before he cleared his throat and began the walk through his house. “I tried to talk her into putting decent clothes on, but you know, teens. She insisted we would have this conversation by the pool. I hope you do not mind, gentlemen?”

     I did not think either one of us had ever been acquainted with a pool ever in our lives, however none of us minded the outdoors meeting.

“Okay, so what is it that you guys want to know? It’s not like I know anything or whatever.” Gretchen Wieners said as she was sitting by a table set with four glasses of iced tea, and she greeted us by looking over the top of her sunglasses with a look of dismissal.

“Good afternoon miss Wieners” Sherlock said before he sat down and intended to have a sip of the iced tea. As he raised his glass towards his mouth he noticed the straw, and seeming to be inexperienced with the phenomenon he recognized his limitations and put the glass down again. “What can you tell us about you friends Karen Smith and Cady Heron?”

Gretchen took her sunglasses off, put them on top of her head and crossed her arms.

“Actually they’re not even my friends, I only hang out with them because Regina kind of likes them, and seriously, I don’t even know why. They’re not even fetch.”

I recognized that word, and the promise I had made to Sherlock that I would let him do the questioning was gone with the wind.

“Fetch? What is that word?”

     Sherlock turned around and gave me the evil eye where I stood behind him, but I had a feeling those were the exact words he was going to ask Gretchen, so I figured there was no harm done.

“Oh my God!” Gretchen sighed, “Fetch is like the most in word right now, everyone in Hollywood says ‘fetch’, but Regina is the queen and she makes all the rules and no one gets to say fetch without having to eat lunch by the nerds’ table.” Gretchen’s voice turned squeaky and ridiculing as Regina’s name was mentioned.

“You see, miss Wieners, your word there, ‘Fetch’, was written in red paint on the wall the night of the fire, the same night as Karen died, and we know that you wrote it.” said Sherlock, and some people would find his way of calming his voice intimidating, but I knew it was only a trick to make Gretchen feel uncomfortable.

“Well, duh! I was hypnotized or whatever, by that mushroom thingy that gave me the ugly rashes! Daddy, I can’t be held responsible for that, can I?” Her voice quivered when she got up from her chair and rushed into her father’s arms.

“No, pumpkin, of course you can’t. There, there.” Mr. Wieners stroke his daughter’s hair, and then cleared his throat in a familiar way. “Gentlemen, you seem to have upset my daughter, and I will kindly ask you to leave now. Please see yourselves out.”

“Excuse us, sir, we will leave shortly.” I said, “But I would like to ask you one more thing, Gretchen. Do you have any idea who could have done such a terrible thing as poisoning and trick you into doing this horrific act, which you are not at all responsible for?” I used whatever pedagogical techniques I could think of to gain her trust, and it seemed to be working.

“Well, okay, I can’t really think of anyone,” she said carefully as she let go of her tight grip around her father’s waist “but when Regina replaced me with Cady for the Christmas Show, I went to the bathroom to cry, but don’t tell anyone! And that is where it all went dark for me, okay? All I can remember is coffee, and I don’t even drink coffee! You get yellow teeth from that you know. Anyway, it’s so weird, and it probably won’t help you, but that’s all I can do to help. I just don’t want to be the next one to be barbeque.”

     Sherlock turned his head towards me and gave me a glance. He knew something.

“Thank you, miss Wieners. You too Mr. Wieners.” He nodded towards them as he passed, and I followed him in silence, but my mind was screaming for Sherlock to tell me what he had figured out.


	5. A Break in the Coffee

We arrived back at the school just before Mr. Duvall was supposed to leave for the day. He was packing up his things just as we arrived to his office.

“Please, take a seat again, Mr. Duvall.” Sherlock said while he himself sat down on one of the leather chairs in front of Mr. Duvall’s desk.

“Gentlemen! Do you have any news? Did you find the one who has been causing this awfulness?” Mr. Duvall looked at me with eyes drowning in hope.

“We did not, sir, however…”

Sherlock raised his hand as a stop sign when I tried to explain our progress to Mr. Duvall.

“We have narrowed down the list of suspects. We now know for certain that the perpetrator is a serious coffee drinker and is well aware of the school property,” said Sherlock with a smirk on his face. “You see, anyone could be guilty of the first murder, since the mushroom drug takes a couple of hours to have effect, but the attempt to burn Cady Heron alive was made by the perpetrator itself, so it must have been someone well acquainted with the school. This person surely knew its way around the school to be able to get away unnoticed.” Sherlock leaned back in his chair and looked at me. “And what was it that you felt you needed to add to this, Watson?”

“Uhm, well. There… The…” I stumbled on my words due to the confusion I experienced when I did not understand how the story Sherlock just had told had gotten us any closer to find the murderer, but I gathered myself quickly. “Both Gretchen and Cady noted a strong scent of coffee before blacking out.”

“Faculty member…” Mr. Duvall sighed and looked down at his desk as he realized one of his employees were probably a student murderer.

After a few seconds of silence Sherlock got up from the chair and briskly walked towards the door, and I, a bit startled with this whole meeting, followed.

“Good day, Mr. Duvall!”

     When I got out of the cab and into my apartment I simply could not relax. I could not seem to shake the feeling that we had missed something. Even though Sherlock was certain it was someone in the school faculty who was the guilty person of these horrific crimes, I just could not seem to agree with him. All the evidence pointed to that it was someone well aware of the school building, schedules of students and therefore most likely, or absolutely as Sherlock claimed, a person of the faculty. But who? I took my jacket off and as I hung it on the hanger, I saw something in my inside pocket. The folded paper! I had forgotten to tell Sherlock about it! I grabbed my cellphone and dialed the number for Sherlock’s hotel.

“Put me through to Sherlock Holmes’ room, will you?”

I almost shouted at the front desk lady who had picked up the phone, but no time was to waste.

“Watson? I am in the middle of writing a letter to my brother. He rarely has the time to answer his phone these days.”

“This is more important than your brother, Sherlock! Meet me at the café in thirty minutes, and pick up Cady Heron on your way. I will call her and tell her you are coming.”

Sherlock gave away a little snigger.

“This sounds exciting, count me in.”


	6. An Unraveled Piece of Paper

Sherlock and Cady had already sat down at the table in the corner when I arrived, both of them without any idea to why they were brought here. Cady had a look on her face which revealed her uncertainty, but Sherlock looked like he was enjoying the moment. That man never failed to surprise me, that was for sure.

“Sherlock, miss Heron, I have something I need to show you both.” I said as I sat down and simultaneously pulled the folded piece of paper out of my inner pocket. “Cady, you know about the Burnbook, am I correct?”

Cady looked at me. She was surprised.

“Yes. From the beginning it was Regina’s book. She put pictures of people in it who she did not like very much, and I think everyone has ended up there, actually. But, it was stolen from her locker a year ago, and ever since then there has been a rumour going around that someone had taken the title of the book too literal and… Well, as I said, I thought it was only a rumour, but after what happened, people are saying that it is a real list of people to burn.” Her voice lowered, “Alive.”

“What is this, Watson? You can see she is frightened, can you not?” Sherlock sounded inpatient and thumbed his fingers on the table.

“Oh, right. But, miss Heron, what can you tell me about this girl?” I unfolded the paper and flattened it out in front of Cady.

She took a close look and then she leaned back in her chair.

“Oh, I don’t know her name, but she used to come to our school, even though she didn't even go there, and pretended like she did. She was a huge fan of Regina and always followed her around telling her how much she admired her. Two years ago or so, a couple of teachers threw her out and told her she was no longer welcome, but I think she still comes sometimes. Mr. Watson, she attends your class sometimes actually.”

I looked at her with huge eyes. How was that possible?

“But I have never seen this girl, especially not in my class!” I realized that I sounded accused of something much worse than this actually was, and calmed down quickly, “How do you know this?”

Cady looked around in the café.

“See, there she is. The waitress, with the white apron.” She pointed at the chubby girl with the blond hair and red, puffy cheeks who was handling the register.

“Miss Heron, the girl in the picture is brown haired and… How to put this right… Obese.” I looked at Sherlock for help, but he just sat back in his chair and looked like he was having his moment of amusement of the year. Then and there I gave up any hopes of getting his help this evening, or even, with this case.

“Yes, I know. This picture is taken years ago.” said Cady, “Before she started worshiping Regina. A couple of years ago she dyed her hair blonde and started working out to lose weight, and to pay for her personal trainer, she took this job. Gretchen and Karen used to say that she did all this just so she could look more like Regina.”

I was still confused by Cady’s story, how could I not know that this girl used to attend my classes, for years?

“Oh, and Mr. Watson. She wears a wig in class, a brown one, and that makes her look like that other fat girl’s twin. That’s probably what you’re wondering, right?”

Her reading of my thought almost scared me, and I could not do anything but to nod.

“Some people say she’s a psycho and that she would do anything to become friends with Regina.” Cady whispered quickly, and I suddenly understood why when I heard a low and excusing voice.

“Can I get you anything? Tea, muffins, coffee?”

“Coffee!” Cady’s nostrils flared and she gasped. She almost fell of her chair and when I looked at her, her face was pale and she could not stop to stare at the waitress, “It was you!”

Cady pointed at the waitress, and suddenly all the pieces fell to place in my mind. She was the one who had dropped the Burnbook after my class and of course ripped out the page of herself from it. She knew the school like it was her own, even though she was not an attending student, and she could easily have poisoned Gretchen the afternoon before the Christmas Show since all the girls always came to the café before any big event. But why?

     I had no time to leave more thought to her motives, because the waitress started running fast. She went out the door and I got up from my chair after her, but I did not come very far before two police officers came back into the café, holding her by one arm each. She looked like she was boiling of rage, a look I had never thought such a shy girl could achieve. Once again the thought reappeared in my mind of sometimes it is those that you thinks are least likely to be guilty of a black heart.

“Sherlock? Did you call the police?” I turned around and looked at him, still sitting leaned back in his chair, sipping on his new favourite hot beverage, cappuccino.

“Of course I did, my dear Watson.”

“But… But… Did you already know?” My shock of surprise had passed, and I was starting to change my mood from confused to angry.

“Of course I did, Watson. But I just cannot understand why. Will you do us the honour, miss?” he looked at the waitress with a demonstrative look, and at first she looked like she was going to keep her mouth shut, but after a few seconds she sighed.

“Regina would never see me, so I figured if I poisoned Gretchen to kill Karen, I could get her to kill you too,” she said and rugged her head towards Cady, “but I had no idea that the mushroom drug would give her rashes that revealed that she was under hypnosis. But at least Karen was dead, and Gretchen didn’t want to go back to school, so I just had to get rid of you and then Regina would be so scared of me she had to be my devotee!” Her glance sailed away as she dreamed about her utopian plan, but she was pulled back down to earth when one of the policemen handcuffed her wrists.

“That sounds like a confession to me! Let’s go, young lady!” The policemen escorted her out to the police car and drove off.

     Cady and I were still in shock, but Sherlock seemed to be calm as ever, sipping on his cappuccino and leaned back in his chair, like he knew all along how this would play out. The anger that I had begun to feel earlier had grown into rage, and I did not feel like talking to this self centered man.

“Miss Heron, let me take you home.” I said and put my arm around her shoulders, and walked her out to a cab. Before the door closed behind us I heard Sherlock shout from inside.

“Watson! I will see you Thursday, here at the café, at noon!”

And then the door shut. I decided I would most likely give him the opportunity to explain himself and his absolute ridiculous behaviour. But, I had not made up my mind just yet.


	7. The End of the Start

Sherlock and I sat down at our regular table at the café. The murderer was caught and the school had fallen back into its normal routines. How could he be so at peace even though we had gone almost a month with the murderer breathing the same air as us?

“Sherlock?” I asked as I put my finished espresso back on the saucer, “Is there something you are not telling me? About this case, I mean? When did you know?”

He looked at me with reassuring eyes and a neatly folded the napkin he had just wiped the skimmed milk from his cappuccino of his upper lip with, and put it back in his lap.

“Watson, even though we do not go very far back, I am of the impression that you know that I know, that you know that I do not tell you every single thing on my mind. This way you will always be curious to what I have going on, and therefore you might want to consider working with me in the future. What do you say?”

     His very upfront answer did not surprise me, although the suggestion of us working together in the future did. All I ever thought of to happen after this adventure was to go back to teaching at the school, but the longer I thought of it, the more appealing it was, to solve the puzzles that might come our way. In fact, this was the first time in years that I had felt that my life once again mattered, so how could I possibly go back to teaching and feel fully satisfied?

“What is it that you are suggesting, Sherlock Holmes?” I asked with an underlying tone of suspicion, and eyes that revealed my not fully trusting him.

“There is a flat, back in London of course, and I need a flat mate. The landlady is very sweet, and most of the time, even though she claims not to be a cleaning lady, I come home to a tidied flat and an offer of tea every day. Well, at least the days that I do actually return to the flat. It does sound rather intriguing, does it not, Watson?”

First he suggested becoming some sort of business partners, and all of a sudden he planned for us to be flat mates! I could not even form a word, and I was not even sure I was breathing right.

“Your silence is not very assuring; however, 221 Baker Street is a very desirable address, and I will see you there when you have made up your, at the time very confused, little mind. My plane leaves in an hour so this will be our last chat on this side of the pond. You will cover my bill, will you not, Watson?”

     He got up from his chair and put on his coat, and he made sure the collar was set just right before he walked towards the door after a slight nod to where I sat. Still perplexed to both of his suggestions, I waved at him, probably looking like I had seen a ghost, and watched him get into a yellow cab. He was a curious, and somewhat a dislikeable man, Sherlock Holmes. My own curiosity tickled my mind so much that whatever rational reason to not follow him seemed to be lost. When I had put another twenty-dollar bill under the saucer of my espresso cup, I walked towards the door as I dialed a number on my cellphone.

“Hello, my name is John Watson. I would need a no return ticket to London, please.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> We are five students that got to write a Sherlock Holmes story as an examination to a creative writing course. We wanted to turn a twist on the story; therefore, we decided to put this mystery fan fiction in the Mean Girls' world. In other words, this is a crossover fan fiction. Let us know what you think, all constructive criticism are welcomed!


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